The Diary Of Pamela D. Read online

  As she went with them back to the living room her thoughts were dragged back to a realisation she had being trying to force from her mind for good, that Albert Askrigg was still at large, possibly somewhere nearby, and that he was still intent on killing her. Inextricably bound to this revelation were her newly awakened feelings towards Theo, her love for him and the damnable indifference of the man. Accompanying this was the almost mad wish that Theo would pay her half the attention that Albert Askrigg did, but in a good way. ‘Theo is a good man,’ she tried telling herself. And in the same breath discovered that she wasn’t sure of anything.

  -6-

  Pamela got her wish in one sense: Theo began spending a good deal of time with her, taking her out frequently and showing her the incredibly varied countryside of Yorkshire. But they were never actually alone together: he would always take her to popular public places and once there he would say little, leaving her to fend for herself as he sat nearby and watched over her like a concerned parent. She tried not to think of the reason for this but the tense set of his shoulders, his watchfulness, his protective possessiveness, served as constant reminder of the threat of Albert Askrigg. Sometimes, when they stopped for a meal at some quiet pub or restaurant she would study him for there was little else to do. He would say very little, and though vigilant in an unsettling manner, he seemed always a million miles away, his thoughts preoccupied with matters he never hinted at, never shared with her.

  She found she liked Theo best, appearance-wise, when he wore his ivory-coloured cable-knit sweater. It made his chest appear deeper and broader than it already was, his arms bigger and stronger. In fact it fit him like a glove, not at all loosely, attesting to his well-proportioned and well-defined masculine physique. As well, it made him appear somehow more conjugal, if that was the right word (it was, of course, one she had borrowed from Mrs. Dewhurst’s vocabulary). It was the kind of thing she could imagine him wearing if they were married and had children, or even if they were together as a real couple, spending a day at the beach or going for a picnic or a walk in the country.

  If he desired any of these things, he never gave the least sign, never alluded to them, never followed a line of thought Pamela introduced which might lead to discussing them. Yet at this same time, he initiated a sort of ritual: late each evening, after everyone else had gone to bed, he would go to the study and pour the two of them a small glass of sherry, would lead her to the upstairs sitting room and throw a few logs on the fire. He would then sit in one of the big armchairs and draw her onto his lap.

  The first time this happened she was very tense, wondering where this was going to lead, or what he was going to do to her. But nothing ever happened. He would gently coax her into relaxing, to lay against him, her head against his chest like a little girl. Then they would sit in silence watching the fire, he smoking a single long cheroot, both of them sipping occasionally at their sherry. In the end, he would flick the stub of his cheroot into the fire as signal that it was time to go to bed, and that was that.

  Nothing happened? No, she mused. It wasn’t quite as simple as that. While sitting on his lap her mind would become strangely bifurcated: one part of it would be acutely aware of his physical presence, while another would spend the time fantasizing, daydreaming, as though by force of his physical presence alone he seemed able to set her mind free in some indefinable way.

  Nor did she simply lay passively against him like a rag doll. As she became comfortable with being in such close physical contact with him she would press her face against his chest and listen to the reassuring thump of his heart, or put her arms around his neck and her head on his shoulder.

  On infrequent occasions Mrs. Dewhurst or someone else would get up out of bed for one reason or another and see the two together. The first time Pamela saw Mrs. Dewhurst pass by the door the woman had given the two of them a look of such undisguised relief as left Pamela feeling completely baffled, as Theo’s behaviour often did.

  Each night after going to bed, Pamela would lay awake and find part of herself wishing that Theo had taken her to bed with him. Each night it got a little harder to be parted from him. But never once did he give the slightest indication that he felt any such inclination himself.

  Afraid of jeopardizing their quiet time together by speaking of it, a time she cherished and looked forward to, all day and every day, she held her peace. And she waited.

  As the day grew closer for Pamela to go with Ellie and Doris to Hornsea, Pamela felt as though she were walking on air, despite the pall that seemed to have fallen over much of the household. The only bright notes in the whole mansion these days seemed to be little Jennie, Fred and Anne Pascoe’s little girl, and old Misters Smith and Pritchard, who at the moment were seated, as was normal for them, at a small table in front of a window at the back of the kitchen, utterly absorbed in their game of chess. The two of them were surrounded by a veritable cloud of smoke from Mr. Pritchard’s pipe and Mr. Smith’s Player’s, using an ancient tobacco-can lid as an ashtray, until Pamela flounced by, opened the window, and brought them some fresh coffee.

  ‘Thanks, lass,’ said Mr. Pritchard appreciatively without looking up.

  ‘Mm,’ Mr. Smith agreed. ‘Here, no kibitzing, young lady!’

  With a broad smile, Pamela flounced away, whiling away the lazy afternoon. She set to watering the plants, passing Mr. Pascoe in the upstairs hallway, heading towards the end where a pair of ancient asparagus ferns had stood to either side of the window in their ornately carved wooden stands, literally for generations.

  ‘You’re certainly irrepressible,’ Mr. Pascoe commented with a smile. ‘It’s a good thing too. If it wasn’t for you and little Jen right now, this place would have all the appeal of a mausoleum.’

  Pamela shrugged, her sunny mood clouding over for a brief moment. ‘Theo doesn’t seem to like the way I’m acting these days. He practically bit my head off yesterday. And the day before.’

  ‘Oh, that! Pay him no heed, girl, he’s just very strung up right now. You have to keep in mind that he’s responsible for the safety of everyone on this estate, which is something that he feels most keenly right now.’

  ‘Yes, well, he needs to get out more,’ Pamela said, thinking again of her coming trip to Hornsea, her mood improving at once.

  When she wheeled the trolley into the front sitting-room at less that her usual dignified gait, Mrs. Dewhurst looked up at her and smiled. ‘I never though the day would come when I would actually welcome the sound of the trolley clattering along! But do be careful my dear! Don’t you dare chip my fine china.’

  Pamela smiled as she served Mrs. Dewhurst and Theo, Chief Inspector Matthews, Fred and Anne Pascoe, and two young constables, a man and a fairly pretty woman who appeared to be in her mid-twenties, who looked up and smiled.

  ‘I heard your concert at Easter. Wish I had a voice like yours.’

  Pamela made a face. ‘You can have it! I’m afraid that I was born with more voice than talent.’

  Mrs. Dewhurst gave her a mock-stern look. ‘Pamela’s voice is so bad, in fact, that it’s being issued on a brand-new CD next month.’

  ‘Ugh,’ Pamela said with a shudder, ‘I don’t even want to hear it. I mean, the recording will probably be okay, but it’s what happened during the recording that I’d rather forget.’

  ‘Pamela,’ Anne said with an entreating smile, ‘would you mind very much taking Jennie off my hands for a bit?’ The reason for this was obvious: that they were trying to have an adult conversation, and while the little girl couldn’t understand much of what was being said, she was nevertheless affected by the demeanor of the adults surrounding her.

  Anne well knew that Pamela didn’t need to be asked, that she would jump at the chance to play with Jennie for a while. But Theo said, without looking up from something that he was reading, ‘Don’t take her outside. Stay indoors, where I- where we know where you are.’

  ‘I really don’t think that’ll be necessary right at the momen
t,’ said Inspector Matthews. ‘Constables Morris and Whitehead are at loose ends right now; they will accompany Pamela and the child into the back garden. Won’t they?’ he added, giving the two a look that sent them scurrying to their feet.

  ‘Yes, Chief Inspector,’ said the young woman.

  Flashing the female constable a surreptitious smile, Pamela led the way.

  They went to a place by the tarn where there were shade trees, picnic tables and benches. Along the way, the young woman introduced herself.

  ‘I’m Heather Morris. This here is Paul Whitehead.’ After a long moment, she confided, ‘I think the Chief was glad to be rid of me. Bloody misogynist wouldn’t even let me go with you without an escort.’

  Paul, a shy, introverted young man, managed a guilty look at this, but it was apparent that he watched Heather, herself a healthy-looking attractive girl, with an interest that had absolutely nothing to do with escorting or police work. He was painfully obvious, which made the two girls share a smirk. Then, when they had seated themselves, purely on impulse, and just for the devil of it, Pamela handed Jennie over to Heather, ignoring the young woman’s feeble protests, and well knowing the effect this would have on Paul Whitehead. When Jennie took an instant liking to her, Heather shot Pamela a glance that said eloquently, “One day, when you least suspect it, I am going to repay the favour.”

  ‘So, why do you say that Mr. Matthews is a misogynist?’ Pamela said. ‘He’s always nice enough to me.’

  ‘Why?’ Heather said. ‘Because I just happen to be a woman, and we just happen to be in the area where that Askrigg fruitcake is supposedly lurking about, and because of that, the Chief Inspector no longer sees me as a cop!’

  Sizing the young woman up at a glance, Pamela said with utter conviction, ‘You only say that because you’ve never laid eyes on him. You’re not much bigger than me, and he picked me up like I weighed nothing. He’s like . . . have you ever read Beowulf?’ Pamela hadn’t actually read it, but Mrs. Pascoe had read it to her one afternoon. She read to the girl often, thinking she needed culture. Pamela thoroughly enjoyed the experience and felt at moments like this that it was actually paying off. To her surprise, Heather’s eyes dilated with barely concealed fear.

  As though fearing to be overheard, she replied in a low voice, ‘That’s about the tenth time I’ve heard Albert Askrigg referred to as Grendel! You’re not really saying that he’s-’

  ‘Yes,’ Pamela cut her off, and with fatal certainty added, ‘he really is like that.’

  ‘And you somehow managed to get away from him,’ the young constable said in wonder. ‘So that’s what all the fuss is about.’

  ‘You’re not actually scared, are you?’ Paul interjected, feeling brave for the moment.

  ‘Paul,’ Heather rejoined, ‘we’re talking about the man who beat off six officers, two of whom were pensioned off afterwards because of the extremity of the injuries they suffered. One of the officers present was Chief Inspector Matthews. Now, in light of that, show me someone who’s not afraid of Albert Askrigg and I’ll show you a complete fool.’

  Paul paled as her words sank in. Robert Matthews was legendary for his sheer size and strength alone. It was evident in the extremity of his frown that Paul was trying to imagine what sort of a man could actually beat up Robert Matthews, and five others in the bargain-

  ‘But . . . that’s bloody inhuman!’

  ‘Well, well,’ Heather said to Pamela as she handed Jennie to her, ‘I think he’s finally got the picture.’

  ‘Why isn’t Theo intimidated by Albert?’ Pamela wondered rhetorically, not expecting an answer.

  Heather huffed. ‘Shows how much you know about the man! I’d pay good money to see the two of them duke it out- the untamable force vs. the immovable object. Mr. Dewhurst once caught a burglar who had broken into Dewhurst Mansion. Theo threw the fellow out. Only thing was, the front door was closed at the time. The man needed reconstructive surgery to rebuild his face.’

  Pamela swallowed, not able to believe the woman’s words. ‘Theo’s not that kind of man!’ she said defensively.

  ‘He is if someone pulls a gun on his mother,’ Heather said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The robber told Mrs. Dewhurst to open the safe. She refused. He pulled a gun. Theo took it off him, snapped in two as though it were a toy, and gave the fellow the bum’s rush.’

  ‘Nobody ever told me about that,’ Pamela said, feeling left out.

  ‘Theo was a wild one before his father died,’ Heather said. ‘He and my oldest brother went to school together, so I’ve heard all the stories. According to my brother, when Theo’s father died and he had to come home and look after the family’s estates and businesses, all the wildness, all the life, seemed to go out of him. Apparently it was partly on account of this girl he was seeing. She was a hoity-toity type who never lifted a finger to earn her keep and was only good at spending her daddy’s money. Well, she and Theo were like two peas in a pod until Theo’s father snuffed it. Then, Theo had no choice but to get serious, but the girl had no intention of changing her ways. He ended up dumping her, and that, as they say, was the end of that. Except that he did the right thing: she’s nothing but a drunk and a tramp who’s been married four or five times, with no children, no real life and no stability.’

  Pamela was thoughtful for a long moment. Much became clear to her from Heather’s story, but what was becoming clearer to her were the man’s ambiguities. Which was the real Theo? The young, impulsive, headstrong reveller and capricious, selfish, sometimes dangerous free spirit or the conservative, reserved, gentle man who kept to his business and to himself, expressing himself in infrequent acts of kindness; even tenderness?

  The four started involuntarily as a flock of ducks exploded from a thick copse at the North end of the tarn.

  Taking a cautious look around, Heather said, ‘If you don’t mind, Pamela, I’d feel better if you went back inside. Paul, will you go with her and tell the Chief Inspector to come out here and join me?’

  Within moments the place was like a hornet’s nest. Armed police wearing helmets and bullet proof vests came seemingly from nowhere and began combing the spot where the ducks had been disturbed. Pamela discovered that for the first time she was looking forward to getting away from the Dewhurst estate, that her life and her new home were becoming blighted by Albert Askrigg. She found herself wishing fervently that Theo would do something, that he would somehow take charge of the situation, that he would flush Albert out of hiding and deal with him and put an end to the instability and uncertainty that were eroding life at Dewhurst Manor.

  That evening, as she was clearing the supper dishes from the dining room table, Theo approached her, his look guarded.

  ‘I understand you were to have gone to Hornsea on Saturday,’ he said quietly. ‘There has been a change of plan. You’ll be staying home.’

  Pamela gaped at him, devastated. ‘What? But I’ve been waiting to go since Christmas! It’s all I’ve been looking forward to.’ She began crying. ‘I’ve got to get out of here for a while. It’s only for a week. Please.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but it’s completely out of the question,’ Theo told her, an unfamiliar hard edge to his voice.

  ‘But why?’

  He looked away from her, as if unwilling to speak. But he said, ‘Do you want your friend, Tessa, to be put at risk as well?’

  ‘What? Of course not!’

  ‘Then you will remain here.’

  Pamela went to her room where she cried her heart out. It wasn’t fair! She had been looking forward to this trip, at first to see her friend, Tessa. Then, as the spectre of Albert Askrigg raised its pall over her life, she began to experience a growing need to escape. Day by day, it seemed, the threat of Albert Askrigg was growing, menacing her at every turn. She was becoming afraid to sleep, and would lay awake nights wondering if there were hidden passages in the mansion by which he might steal upon her, unseen and unheard, in the middle of the night, a ni
ghtmare shadow that was not a shadow.

  That evening, as she made her way downstairs to finish up in the kitchen, she chanced to overhear Chief Inspector Matthews and Theo speaking together in the sitting room. The Chief Inspector was saying, ‘-has to be connected in some way. All of the victims appear to have had consensual sex just prior to being killed. That your Pamela managed to fight him off tells us something, but what? By all appearances, none of the others even tried.’

  ‘What are you saying?’ Theo said, his voice sounding uncharacteristically sharp, strained. ‘That they wanted what happened to them?’

  Seeming to choose his words carefully, Mr. Matthews said, ‘I think, and keep in mind that this is pure supposition on my part; I think that he meant to leave us with the impression that the young women had consensual sex with him, just to make us believe that he had total power over them.’

  ‘Only a sick, diseased mind could conceive of doing such a despicable thing,’ Theo said.

  ‘Or an evil mind,’ the Inspector said, quietly. ‘A truly evil mind.’

  ‘Please, Inspector,’ Theo said. ‘Next, you’ll be back to that business about ghosts and demons.’

  ‘There are many of my most experienced and unimaginative officers who have taken to calling this fellow Grendel. Did you know that?’

  ‘I’m familiar with both stories, past and present,’ Theo told him. ‘As I told you before, the myth is just a myth, and Albert Askrigg is just a man, not an inhuman, supernatural monster. And what is more, a man who will one day be caught and brought to justice, like any other.’

  ‘I’m beginning to wonder,’ the Chief Inspector said. ‘You forget that I fought the man, along with five other officers. Ed Townsley, you remember him? He got the side of his skull crushed by a blow from Askrigg’s fist. Brian Cleese suffered massive internal injuries when Askrigg picked up the officer over his head and flung him against an iron railing. He slapped me down like a rag doll after I’d thrown myself against him. It was like diving onto a spur of rock!’